


Love Hurts

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks he knows what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amayakumiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amayakumiko/gifts).



Sam shows up one Deanless night with a few drinks in his system, touchy-feely, needing the courage of the alcohol to make soft requests. 

"Just a little," he murmurs. "You know, just a little," his voice hot in Bobby's ears, his broad and careful hands everywhere. "Sometimes?" His voice is actually cracking.

"Yeah, I could do that," Bobby murmurs back, no excuse of alcohol for the way he touches the ends of Sam's hair, for his hand on Sam's shoulder, his tiny waist.

"I want it," Sam noses Bobby's cheek. "I want it like that. Believe me, Bobby."

"I do," Bobby shushes, sitting back in his chair to ease Sam onto his lap a little. Sam giggles and leans in for a soft kiss.

"I love your beard," Sam says. "Promise me, okay? That we'll try it, like I want?"

"Yeah. I promise," Bobby says, curling his arms around Sam, who's squirmy and delighted. 

"You're really the best, you know that?" Sam praises.

"Well, I try," Bobby mutters in return.

Bobby's still trying nights later, he's always trying, to be what Sam wants, what Sam needs, and he'd give the boy the moon, if he could, cause the boy thinks he does own it, and spanking, and talkin' down to him a little, that should be no mean feat. It's just a game, one of those games kids are always getting up to. It doesn't mean a thing, not really.

"What're you lookin' at?" he demands, and Sam's eyes slide down Bobby a bit on their way to the ground.

"Sorry," Sam says.

"No, don't be sorry. I'll _make_ you sorry. Now, I wanna have a seat on the bed and watch you as you strip." Sam's eyes shoot up to meet his, uncertain, but Bobby's gaze doesn't waver. "This is what you asked for, right?" Bobby reminds. Then, he whispers, "The safeword's ' _veto_ '. Don't forget." Sam nods.

Sam _responds_. Not that he hadn't been responding before, but his cries get throatier, his eyes close tighter, he thrums with energy and emotion and things neither he nor Bobby could name, and his downcast eyes are so pretty, and the way his head hangs as he lets his hair get petted and pulled is just so dramatic and fun.

And he begs for more, always more. It's always, "Come on, Bobby." "You're not gonna break me, Bobby." "Don't you love me?" That last gets him harder swats or harder pulls of the hair for sure. Insolent kid.

He doesn't have to stay silent. Hell, Bobby prefers it when he talks. 

Sometimes Sam sobs, just cries and cries through begs for more. And he never says _veto._

Sam's all strung out, sniffing into shredded Kleenex he's ripping from the box, thanking Bobby over and over, when he says something that Bobby doesn't like the sound of.

"I never thought you'd...go for this," he says, voice high and cracking. "I really. I'm surprised."

"Good surprised?"

"Yeah. You're the best." Sam glances up, eyes red-rimmed and lovely and so _proud_ of Bobby. He's always so proud of him. "I needed that. I deserved that."

And Bobby watches as Sam wipes a few more bits of Kleenex over his face. He frowns slightly, wondering how heavy the word "deserve" is. Sam's never said it before, just that he needed, not deserved.

Deserve sounds dangerous.

Sam's wrists pound his pulse as Bobby ties him up to the bed frame. They've never done this before. Bobby has reminded him of his safe word four times since he came in and started stripping. Sam hates to be restrained.

When Sam's secured and naked and lovely except for his quiet fear which is anything but arousing, Bobby sits at the edge of the bed and says, "Talk to me, Sam."

Sam's eyes dart up. "Uh. What...what should I say?" he practically squeaks.

Bobby's face softens completely. "I'm worried. Something you said."

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "Bobby, whatever it was." He shakes his head and swallows, eyes wide. "Tell me what it was. I won't...I won't say it again."

Guilt blooms at the back of Bobby's throat and he sighs. "I can't do this," he shakes his head, reaching up to start unfastening the wrist closest to him. Sam tries to pull the hand away.

"What do you mean? Can't do...what?" Sam barely dares to breathe.

Bobby blinks, still leaning over Sam. He stares down into those wide eyes and softly says. "I can't tie you up, is all." He reaches out, stroking Sam's cheek with gentle touches of rough fingertips. "Not even to play your little punishment games." He leans in slowly and presses a soft kiss to Sam's trembling lips. "The thing you said was 'deserve'."

Sam frowns up at Bobby. Bobby reaches up again and starts to unfasten the knots. Sam sags against the bed and lets him, nervous. 

"I don't know how I didn't realize," Bobby murmurs. "Maybe I didn't _want_ to realize. But you're way more serious about this whole punishment thing than I thought, Sam."

Sam's voice is high and he's already close to tears. "Bobby...."

"Shh," soothes Bobby, reaching up for the knots at the other wrist. "Wanted to tie you up so we could talk without you runnin' out on me, but I can't do it, son." He curls his hands into each of Sam's when they're free, pinning them gently without any knots at all. He leans in for another quick kiss that Sam desperately tries to wring more out of. But Bobby doesn't want them getting too distracted.

"We've seen what you think you deserve," he says, solemn. "It's my turn tonight, alright? To show you what I think you deserve."

Sam starts shaking. Bobby wonders what the hell is wrong with him that he didn't pick up on how messed up it all was. Bobby lets go of Sam's hands, and for a moment they try to follow his, not wanting to be abandoned, but with a sigh Sam forces the wanting hands to relax, rests them against the pillow.

And Bobby sets to work. He kisses, and he nips at Sam's jaw, and he says into Sam's neck. "You're so soft here."

And he noses Sam's shoulder and into his armpit, hearing a laugh surprised out of Sam that makes him smile to himself. Bobby kisses Sam's inner arm. "You're strong as hell. Can pick up anything you want. But you're still not dangerous." 

"Bobby, what are you doing?" Sam asks, a giggle in his voice. Bobby glances up to meet Sam's gaze, and the silliness fades from Sam's eyes, and he swallows again.

"You don't have to make me feel better, Bobby. It's okay," he says. "Really. I'm not a little kid anymore. I can accept my own consequences, my own reality."

"Oh, you can?" challenges Bobby. "Then shut up and let me get on with it. Idjit."

He mouths at Sam's nipples, plays with them a little until Sam's flushing and looking away, but he says, "Hey. Sam, it's okay." Slowly, Sam turns his face back.

"I want you to want it," Bobby points out. 

Sam sighs, shifts a little, runs his hands through his hair. "Okay," he says.

Bobby suddenly realizes Sam's all naked and exposed and he isn't. "Oh, hang on," he says, finishing work on his clothes. He straddles Sam when he gets back on the bed, leaning his weight over him. He goes in for a kiss, and Sam does respond a little more. And slowly, Sam reaches up, wrapping careful arms around Bobby. 

Bobby grins against Sam's jaw. "See? It's okay. It's not you I don't want. I just don't wanna hurt you no more."

Sam shifts a little, and Bobby offers a soft moan. "That's right, Sam," he encourages, and rocks back. "Remember how sweet things used to be, before that night you got drunk and changed the rules? Let's change 'em back, only better."

"Okay," murmurs Sam. "You lead."

"I'll lead."

Bobby's mouthing at Sam's nipples again, and they're starting to feel raw, but it's an overly-worshipped sort of raw, not an overly-punished one. Before he knows it, the mouth and the scratchy beard are at his sides, his stomach, placing little sucking kisses. 

Then the mouth is where Sam tries to avoid having it, some kind of complex competing in his head with any normal idea of pleasure. Sam cries out for Bobby and fists his hands into the pillow. "V-very good," he says, and Bobby pauses for a moment, realizing Sam had probably been about to say what he's never said before. Bobby pulls back, stares up at Sam softly.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed. Hell, I'd be too," he admitted. He reaches up to stroke Sam with his hand firmly, knowingly. "It's okay." 

Sam sighs in relief. He closes his eyes, tears leaking from the corners. "I'm sorry."

"You're perfect just how you are," Bobby assures, and brings Sam to a shaking orgasm, joying in Sam's soft little noises, how helpless but newly-determined Sam seems.

"You don't deserve punishment," Bobby says. "I don't want you squirming out of guilt, you hear me? I don't want you in pain cause you think that's all I'll bring you. I care about you, a hell of a lot."

Sam nodds carefully, opening his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says again, tired but urgent. Bobby leans in and kisses him. 

Sam's hand comes down to find Bobby hot and ready, and he strokes, asking quietly for Bobby to kiss him again, and, around groans, Bobby does.

"You deserve it too," Sam whispers as Bobby comes from his stroking.

"Damn, that's hot," Bobby admits. And he contemplates how they'll need to clean up soon. They rest together, neither ready to move yet. They both have the sense they're sharing a moment, that they're above earthly things for a second.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam finally says, imbuing it with all the feeling he normally does, all the love. They don't say "love", but Sam thanks with it anyway, and Bobby's expression softens with it in a way it doesn't soften for anyone else.

"You _deserve_ to be prized," Bobby says. "Don't ever let anyone tell you different. They're lyin' if they do."

Sam doesn't think he can hold to that promise, so he doesn't promise. He curls closer to Bobby instead, and that's enough for both of them. They eventually get cleaned up, and then Sam murmurs that he'd really like to take it from where they left off. So they do.

And Sam has to admit, if only to himself, that enjoying more pleasure, more needy licks and greedy strokes, working up to feeling worshiped and out of control and _wanted,_ is nicer than the alternative. By far.

And that maybe love isn't necessarily about what's deserved anyway.


End file.
